


Mycroft's Revelation

by Rarepair



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fear, Intimidation, M/M, Mycroft IS the British Government, Mycroft's Umbrella, Threats, jimcroft - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 02:22:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8232760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rarepair/pseuds/Rarepair
Summary: Moriarty learns just how intimidating Mycroft can be.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thediogenes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thediogenes/gifts).



> Originally posted on Tumblr, thought I would bring it here.

Mycroft’s smile waned as he stood up but as ever, he appeared completely in control of his faculties. He shook out his cuffs, smoothed his hands over his grey waistcoat and then stretched his neck. Internally, Moriarty screamed in celebration. His ultimatum had at least succeeded in moving the ice man. Perhaps he had even ruffled his feathers somewhat. Well, one could dream …

    Mycroft gazed at him with eyes narrowed in contemplation for a few ticks. He plucked his umbrella from where it rested in a brass holder and rounded his desk. That was when a crinkle of annoyance appeared at the corners of his lids. Moriarty could barely contain his glee as Mycroft nodded to his agents. In a flurry of movement, the consulting criminal was wrenched from his seat and his face pushed down to the desk by a damp, doughy hand. He felt a seam on the desk’s surface cut into his cheek. He didn’t resist. He was in rapture. The men who twisted his arm behind his back and kicked his legs apart were an extension of the great bureaucrat. Finally … _finally_ , Mycroft saw him as a threat, as a worthy adversary.

       Then something glinted in Mycroft’s eyes followed by a dark flicker the likes of which Moriarty had never seen. Mycroft gripped the curved ebony handle of his umbrella and with a click and a half-twist, began to separate it from the shaft. Something shiny and metallic like polished silver flashed and Moriarty watched the emergence of a blade so sharp and fine, he thought it might cut him just to gaze upon it.

     “I grow weary of you,” Mycroft murmured as he admired the twelve inch spire.

     “Oh, I never tire of you,” Moriarty sang.

     “No, you do not,” the great man sighed, turning his eyes to his captive once more, “you are kind of like a mongrel, that way. I keep lobbing the ball but you keep bringing it back. Hmm, so tedious … perhaps it is time I put you down.”

     Moriarty laughed, but rather than sound aloof, his mirth bubbled from his lips in a nervous frenzy. Mycroft wouldn’t really kill him, would he? Yet even as he tried to dismiss that possibility from his mind, Mycroft’s fingers tightened on the curved handle and his knuckles drained of colour. Moriarty shifted on his feet as panic set it. The pressure of the goons’ holds increased. He jerked against their restraint. Sweat slicked his brow and the henchman’s hand slipped. In that moment, a small voice in Moriarty’s head whined that he was not ready to die. How mortifying as a last thought!

     Mycroft paused. His brow flicked up. A smiled tweaked his lips. A second later, he grinned like a child who had gotten a sibling in trouble. He plunked on his desk next to Moriarty, reached into his pocket and retrieved an envelope. Moriarty felt the muscles of his eyes strain as he peered up at the lean figure of his tormentor. With an elegant flourish, Mycroft zipped open the envelope with his blade and set it down with a clunk an inch from Moriarty’s nose. Moriarty could almost feel the cool metal.

     Mycroft shook out a letter and laughed. Moriarty had been bluffed. His ears burned. 

     “Mm, this is my counter-offer, by the way. I anticipated your little threat a while back. Forgive me if my recital sounds stilted, I haven’t reviewed this in some time. I am a busy man, after all, and you cannot expect me to be bothered to remember all the details of pesky grievances like yours.”

     The hairs on Moriarty’s neck stood up.

     “Pesky? Even mongrel dogs can cause great illness when they bite, Mr. Holmes,” he spat, “perhaps you should euthanize me while you still have the chance.”

     “Oh, come now,” Mycroft clucked, “I am not that cruel. Surely, I can just have you neutered?“

      Even in jest, Moriarty felt the menace in his words and was reminded that death at the hands of Mycroft Holmes would be a mercy, and the man was decidedly _not_ merciful.


End file.
